There’s a sink in the undergrowth. Trash everywhere. The walk into work is secluded enough that, although it is still categorised as ‘nature’, people don’t feel guilt when they throw everything to the vines. First few hours were nice. I was thinking about the Trojan epic cycle. I’m obsessed with Homer and Virgil. I was thinking about how the Iliad is History’s greatest action story and how the Aeneid focuses on the tragedy of a man with the weight of fate on his shoulders. Aeneas doesn’t want to roam but must. He must find a way to be a great leader like Priam or Hector. Unlike Odysseus, who is desperate for home and will stop at nothing to get there, Aeneas doesn’t have a home, and every time he finds one for him and his people it’s not the one the Gods have chosen for him. I don’t see Aeneas as a bad man, or a bad leader. He’s the last surviving hero of the Trojans and must carry that weight even if he feels he can’t. Virgil was good. Then work hit me and I was left thinking about where I should go in life. On the way home my neighbour appeared and asked me if wanted a lift. He had been out to buy onions. The conversation ended there.
Journal #3
Still autumn. The damn squirrels are going crazy. I can see people through the windows as I walk past. The lights aren’t on yet. The dentist, the hairdressers, the apartment building. Some already have people behind the desks getting everything set up. It feels like they’re so far away from me. At work I immediately got a papercut. I wondered if I’d ever recover when we got word our affiliates were essentially shut down and wouldn’t do as we told them. They wouldn’t tell us what was up. Collective office imagination turned morbid, and some reached for their phones. They wouldn’t give it up. We got nothing. Walking home I had my shadow directly in front of me. I had my head down as usual. I felt like a protagonist, maybe because of the monotone uniform.
Journal #2
I’m stirring myself with sad shows, sad music, self pity, and reflections in a pool of stained glass. I’m playing the winter aspects of my disposition for all their happy-sad worth. Coming up to 24, not too old. Maybe a good 60 years left, 70 if I never smoke a cigarette and never swim in Australia. But it’s the fact I didn’t do young things. I mean, I got into the Smiths and Romantic Poetry, but I never drank anything alcoholic. Suppose that’s a good thing. Glad I didn’t end up with a false smile. I do have a compulsion to sit and watch the ocean at five AM, when the waves can’t be bothered and no-one else is awake. Nearest ocean is Blackpool. To live long I shan’t be there in the darker hours. Was going to listen to Leonard Cohen but his voice is too much like a love affair in Spain and the Magnetic Fields fit this vibe so truly. Stephin Merritt can write. I think I can too. I’ve never been in love really, not with any one person. Music, yes. Certain moments. Ideas. The existence of long roads in America. I don’t know how to drive but when there’s no-one else on the road who can I hit? My sense of self worth is, overall, low. I like me enough. Don’t know about other people. Maybe if I get that haircut.
Journal #1
It’s autumn, and my hands have been torn apart by paper. The wind runs through my hair and clumps of curl wave in the wind like seaweed. Everything is annoying. Walking the same path I walk twice a day five days a week. Listening to the same album over and over to strike some swagger into my walk, which I must feel makes me look like an artist but to those watching I must seem like a right dick. Do artists even walk in a particular way? When I was eighteen I pictured Rimbaud walking down the crowded streets of Paris with his hands in his pockets and his eyes gazing into the heavens and I suppose I thought I would stand out if I did the same. I even tried to write like him but it ended up a poor translation of a poor translation. Anyway, despite the cold I still manage to sweat due to my heart not putting in a hundred percent. My heart struggled, my breath sharp and quick, and my mind attempting to come up with arrangements for Jazz Rap songs. Never was one so present yet so vacant. I like the fallen leaves though, and the muted tones of the sky, no longer deep blue, not yet hostile silver, but a kind of diluted orange behind a veil of grey. The orange may have come from the fires across the ocean.
The Odyssey (Super Quick Version)
Telemachus: My dad might be alive.
Suitors: He might not.
Telemachus: Lemme check
Suitors: Ugh, whatta bitch.
Telemachus: You heard about me dad?
Nestor: He’s somewhere.
Telemachus: cool.
Nestor: Ask Menelaus.
Telemachus: You heard about me dad?
Menelaus: I beat up a fish and he told me he’s reet.
Telemachus: cool.
Helen: Woe is me.
Odysseus: Can I go home now?
Calypso: No!
Hermes: Yes!
Calypso: Fine.
Odysseus: I’m going home now!
Poseidon: No.
Odysseus: I HATE THE SEA!
Odysseus: Yo, I’m naked.
Nausicaa: I can see that.
Odysseus: Can I see your dad a sec?
Nausicaa: I guess.
Alcinous: What’s your name?
Odysseus: None of your beeswax.
Alcinous: Fair, wanna see some sports?
Odysseus: Ye.
Bard: Sings about Troy.
Alcinous: You crying bro?
Odysseus: Yes, but it’s because I’m Odysseus.
Alcinous: GASP!
FLASHBACK
Odysseus: we’re a bit off course.
Crew: Cool. 420 blaze it?
Odysseus: No.
Cyclops: Imma eat you.
Eats some crew
Cyclops: Who are you?
Odysseus: Nobody.
Clyclops: Fair.
Odysseus: BOO MOTHERFUCKER!
Cyclops: Ouch, my eye!
Odysseus: BTW My names’ Odysseus.
Cyclops: My dad (Poseidon) will beat you up!
Aeolus: Here, have a bag of wind.
Odysseus: Will this get us home?
Crew members open it looking for gold
Crew: Not any more, also we’re back where we started.
Odysseus: I hate you all.
Odysseus: Moar wind plz.
Aeolus: Naw mate, you’re cursed as shit.
Odysseus: awww.
Odysseus: OH FUCKING HELL! NORWEGIANS!
Norwegians eat men, also break boat
Odysseus: Go check out island. Don’t eat strange things.
Crew: You gottit boss.
Circe: Eat this.
Crew: alright.
Pig noises
Odysseus: Where’s me crew?
Hermes: Pigs mate. Eat this.
Circe: Hey, eat some of this not poison
Odysseus: Sure will.
No effect
Circe: Don’t kill me.
Odysseus: Want me men back.
Odysseus: Where do I go?
Circe: Hades, bitch.
Odysseus: ugh fine.
Odysseus: Hey guys!
Ghosts of Achilles and the others: Hey!
Odysseus: How do I get home? Also, Hi mum!
Tiresius: Don’t eat the sun cows.
Circe: Have fun?
Odysseus: Sure did!
Circe: Don’t listen to the sirens.
Odysseus: Don’t tell me what to do.
Odysseus: Tie me up and cover your ears.
Crew: …
Sirens: Today is gonna be the day that they’re gonna throw it back to you/ by now you…
Odysseus: It’s so Beautiful!
Odysseus: Mind the six headed monster.
Six crew members get eaten
Odysseus: Also mind the whirlpool.
Odysseus: This is the sun cow island.
Crew: let’s chill here.
Odysseus: No.
Crew: Yes.
Odysseus: Don’t eat the sun cows.
Crew: Okay.
Odysseus: What are you eating?
Crew: Sun cows.
Helios: THOSE BASTARDS ATE ME COWS!
Zeus: How terrible.
Helios: DO SOMETHING!
Zeus: Ugh, fine.
Whirlpool (Charybdis): Eats the ship, kills everyone, spits out Odysseus
Odysseus: Whelp…
Odysseus: Where am I?
Calypso: Hello new husband!
Odysseus: That didn’t answer my question.
BACK TO NOW TIMES
Odysseus: …And that’s my story.
Alcinous: Cool, wanna lift?
Odysseus: Can I have some gold too?
Alcinous: Why not.
They flump Odysseus on to Ithaca while he’s sleepin’
Poseidon: How Dare you help him! breaks ship
Phaeacians: We’re sorry.
Poseidon: We cool.
Odysseus: Where the fuck am I?
Athena: Home.
Odysseus: Ye right, hahahahaha O shit I am!
Athena: Imma make you look old so you can sneak like a sneaky snake.
Oldysseus: I’m an old beggar.
Swineherd: I like you old beggar!
Oldysseus: Lemme tell my long boring origin story All major bullshit
Swineherd: Fascinating.
Telemachus: I’m home!!
Swineherd: Meet new friend.
Oldysseus: whispering to his son BTW I’m yer dad.
Telemachus: Hey dad.
Oldysseus: Imma gauge the suitors.
Telemachus: they’re all dicks.
Odysseus: I can see that.
Also Odysseus’s dog dies and it’s super sad.
Penelope: Who are you.
Oldysseus: I knew Odysseus once.
Penelope: he’s my husband!
Oldysseus: YoU DoN’t SaY.
Athena: Get the suitors to do some bow and arrow shit.
Penelope: Why not.
Penelope: Anyone that can string Odysseus’ bow and shoot an arrow through these axes can marry me!
Oldysseus: Step aside gents Does the thing
Suitors: GASP!
Oldysseus: That’s right, and this isn’t even my final form!! Turns back into Odysseus
Odysseus, Telemachus, the Swineherd, and the Cowherd turn into human blenders.
Odysseus: Hey wife.
Penelope: Hey husband.
Odysseus: Hey dad.
Leartes: Hey son.
Then Odysseus hangs his unfaithful house maids and it’s pretty fucked up. He spares two suitors though, including the Bard cus he was chill.
Citizens of Ithica: WE’RE ANGRY, HE KILLED OUR SONS!
Athena: You’re not angry any more.
Citzens of Ithica: WE’RE NOT ANGRY ANY MORE!
THE END
The Uninformed man
The uninformed pale man
sits idle on the unconscious street train
looking at his watch and wandering when it will move.
He has amalgamations of blues and reds to gaze at
at they dance and contort in the summer sky.
Children are already stealing and shoes are being worn out
and second place angels are uncertain as to their own intentions –
All scenes the first man cannot see,
for the train was de-commissioned…
and has been in the station
since 1973.
3 Highway Haiku
The sky is pale blue
The grass is bejeweled with ice –
No trees for the birds
Man walks all alone
Looking out for gasoline;
Cars are rolling by
Little stream still sings,
Reeds are brushing the surface –
Here he rests a while.
Herman the Heifer
Herman the heifer
lodges with a leopard
in the centre of St Peter’s Square;
and the regency table
that they bought from the stable
was in desperate need of repair.
Their dinner was poor
for they sat on the floor
and didn’t have space for sake;
they drank full throttle
and opened the bottle
with the tallest teeth of a car key.
Oh! What joy for Herman the heifer,
spending nights alive with as thoughtful a friend
as thoughtless lodger miss Leopard!
And to conclude the fable,
the regency table
has really never looked better.
Umbrellas
Each that rushes below me on springing legs
carries a black umbrella,
some barely sheltering more than one.
On the busy corner is the man with the cart
and the big smile,
selling umbrellas in the rain.
Pictures of Me
I look alright in black and white
but any other tone won’t do,
for my pallor is pale as though I’ve set sail
on the good ship Titanic Two.
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